Elysium
by A Winter Soldier
Summary: She had been told to prepare for anything when she moved to New York. She hadn't prepared for this. Steve Rogers/OC
1. Serendipity

**A/N: The idea for this story came about after wondering what on earth Steve was up to during the two years that elapsed between _The Avengers_ and _The Winter Soldier._ Let's face it, we're all dying to know who his first kiss since 1945 was!**

**I originally posted this story back in the summer, but I've made a few tweaks and edits to it since then, so even if you've read these first chapters before, please sit back and enjoy.**** I hate to be one of those authors who beg for reviews, but seriously, even a few words of encouragement make my day!**

**This fic is dedicated to _starsaligned, _who has been the greatest friend and supporter anyone could ever ask for. **

**I've also written a Bucky/OC story called _Shadow_ that takes place in the same universe as this one. There is some minor overlapping between the two, but you certainly don't need to read both stories! Feel free to check it out if you'd like. :)**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own anything or anyone related to Marvel.**

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><p><em><strong>"An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break."<strong>_

**-Ancient Chinese proverb**

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><p><span><em><strong>Elysium<strong>_

**Chapter One: Serendipity**

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It was the hottest day of the year so far; a thick haze of smog hung oppressively over New York City, relentless and unforgiving. The city languished in the heat wave that had enveloped it for the past week—even the busiest streets had slowed down their usual frenetic pace.

Elizabeth Hawthorne had never been more grateful to have a day off from work. She was sitting cross-legged in front of her tiny apartment's only fan, eating Ben & Jerry's straight from the tub and watching her sunny yellow curtains—a housewarming gift from her mother—flutter in the breeze. She'd given up on watching television; there was nothing on but bad soap operas and the news, which did nothing but churn out more depressing headlines day after day. At the very least, it was pleasant not to have to think about anything for a change.

A soft meow sounded from the corner of the room, and Ellie smiled as her orange tabby, Tigger, leapt down from his perch on the windowsill and padded silently over to her, carefully avoiding the fan's path. Ellie stroked his back as he arched up against her leg, purring loudly. She would have gone insane with loneliness long ago if she hadn't made the impulsive decision to walk over to the animal shelter one rainy day and adopt the first cat she saw: a grouchy, antisocial tom with only one ear and a growl like a chainsaw. Tigger had slowly warmed up to her, though he was still by no means friendly—she had to lock him in her bedroom every time she had a guest over.

Which wasn't very often.

Her fingers caught on a scratch behind his remaining ear—likely left over from when he had been chasing a mouse on the balcony—and Tigger howled in annoyance before digging his claws into her arm.

_"Ouch!"_ Ellie exclaimed, jerking her hand back as Tigger, sensing he was in trouble, shot out of the room in a flash of orange fur. The ice cream bounced to the floor as she examined the damage: it wasn't a very deep cut, but it was long, and blood was already beginning to trickle out. She sighed and reluctantly stood up, making her way over to the kitchen with her bare feet sticking to the linoleum. She hopped onto the counter and tied her sweaty red hair up in a bun before holding her arm under the cold water. Just as she was glancing around the kitchen for a bandage, she heard the familiar buzz of her cellphone in the next room. Ellie couldn't afford a landline, so any outside contact had to come from her mobile phone.

"Hang on!" she called at it, as if the person on the other end could possibly hear, and quickly snatched up a paper towel, wrapping it around her wrist before tearing off a piece of tape and binding the makeshift bandage together. Pleased with her work, she finally dashed across the kitchen and back into the living room, rooting in her purse and throwing items out haphazardly, hearing Tigger's annoyed yowl from the next room.

Her phone had stopped ringing by the time she finally located it, but luckily the caller appeared to be impatient: her phone immediately vibrated again, and this time Ellie snatched it up, breathless. "Hello?"

"He's back," was all she heard on the other end of the line, and for a moment Ellie thought it was a wrong number.

"Pardon me?" she asked, confused. "Who are you?"

"Ellie, it's _me," _the muffled voice insisted. "Beth."

Tucking the phone under one ear, Ellie knelt down to grab the empty tub of ice cream before she tripped over it. "Oh, I didn't recognize you at first," she said, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall and raising her eyebrows. "Hang on, aren't you in the middle of your shift?"

"Yes," her friend replied, apparently undeterred. "I'm in the kitchen pretending to clean my apron. Anyway, how quickly can you get down here? I don't know how long he'll be staying, but I think I can stall him—"

"Whoa, hold on a minute," Ellie interrupted, straightening up and nudging Tigger out of the way with her foot. "I think you've forgotten that today is my day off. _Who_ are you talking about?"

"The man I was telling you about!" Beth exclaimed, her voice rising. Ellie imagined her friend's blue eyes widening in excitement. "The one you said you wanted to see."

"Beth, you're going to have to be a bit more specific," Ellie said, smiling in spite of herself. It was too hot to even think back to their previous conversations. "The president? Tony Stark?"

"No—the one who was here a couple of months ago. I told you about him: he was the hottest guy I've ever seen but was dressed like my grandpa. You said you wanted to see him if he ever came back, remember?"

Ellie grinned and shifted the phone to her other ear. "Yeah, but I meant it more in terms of you pointing him out to me, not you calling and asking me to go to the café when it's a hundred degrees out."

"Come _on_, Ellie! He's actually wearing jeans now. He smiled at me when he walked in and I had to shove Barbara out of the way to get to his table first. You have to tell me if I should give him my number or if he's just some creep. I don't trust my own judgment after what happened with Adam."

"Just write it on the bill and be done with it," Ellie said. It was true that she was curious about the strange man Beth hadn't stopped raving about since he'd come to the café—especially because she'd been so hung up on her ex, Adam, since Ellie had met her—but she still wasn't curious enough to brave the heat.

Beth groaned. "Come on, _please._ What are you even doing? You don't sound busy."

Ellie glanced down at the container in her hand. "Eating Chunky Monkey and substituting paper towels for Band-Aids."

There was a long silence, broken only by the faint crackling of the phone. "What?"

"Never mind." Ellie scrambled to think of an excuse, but she had absolutely nothing else that would satisfy her friend. Once Beth got an idea into her head, there was no deterring her.

"I'll take you out for dinner after my shift," Beth added. "We can go anywhere you want. I'll pay."

Ellie paused. Beth must be _very_ eager if she was resorting to bribery. She guessed that her friend was just bored and would make some excuse up about how her mysterious customer had disappeared just as Ellie walked in the door. But still…there was no denying that her offer was tempting. Not only would Ellie get a free dinner out of the equation, she would be in an air-conditioned café as opposed to her apartment with no cooling system except for a ten-dollar fan from Wal-Mart.

"Fine," Ellie relented after a long moment. "I'll be there in fifteen."

"Great!" Beth chirped happily. "You'll see him right away, he's the only one who asked to sit on the patio—I've almost got the stain out, David!" she called to someone in the background, and Ellie held the phone away from her ear, wincing. "David's on to me," Beth muttered. "Gotta go, bye!" And then she hung up.

Ellie took longer to put her phone away, making sure to check the temperature so she could have something to hold against Beth later on. Her guess hadn't been far off: it was exactly eighty-three point three degrees but felt like ninety-five. July in New York was never forgiving, and today was proving to be no exception.

She stuffed her phone back in her purse and slung it over her shoulder before leaving the apartment and hurrying down the dark stairs to the front door. It would feel odd showing up to her workplace in shorts and a T-shirt, but Ellie was opting for comfort over style at the moment. Her manager, David, was very strict about dress codes, but there was nothing he could do about it if she wasn't working.

The heat hit her like a train the moment she stepped outside onto the front porch, and Ellie nearly gave up and went back inside. Still, she'd promised Beth she would show up, so with some degree of reluctance she retrieved her bicycle from the communal garage and wheeled it out onto the street.

Ellie knew she was very lucky to have rented an apartment that was so close to the café where she worked: it was located on a fairly quiet street in the East Village lined with old buildings that had all been converted into brownstones after the Second World War and always smelled faintly of sawdust. Her landlady, an old woman named Mrs. Wilkins whom she suspected had been the very first occupant of the house, had divided it up into four separate apartments—two in the basement and two upstairs. She lived in one of the basement flats along with a single mother and her young son, while a Russian immigrant and Ellie herself lived in the smaller apartments upstairs. Under normal circumstances, Ellie would never have been able to afford such a place, but Mrs. Wilkins had promised her a discounted rate as long as she took out the trash and tended to the garden once in a while. Once she had moved in, the requirements had expanded to having a cup of tea with the elderly lady nearly every week and listening to her talk about her husband, who had died before Ellie was even born, and flipping through yellowed photo albums and people she had never met and whom she would never meet, but Ellie felt, all things considered, that it was a fair trade.

It took her just over fifteen minutes to navigate through the congested Manhattan traffic, her asthma growing worse with every passing second, and by the time she hopped off her bike and chained it up she had started to cough. Ellie had been severely asthmatic as a child, but by the time she was a teenager it had vanished for the most part, only flaring up during very hot weather.

She had never been more grateful to step inside the Italian-style café, which had the air conditioner turned up to maximum volume. The tables were full of chattering tourists seeking to escape the heat; Ellie remembered Beth telling her that the mysterious man she was so enamored with had been the only person sitting on the patio. Ellie felt a wave of protectiveness for her friend; Beth was sweet, but her quirkiness differed from Ellie in that she always had her head in the clouds. She wouldn't be able to tell if someone was dangerous until it was too late.

"Good afternoon and welcome to Serendipity. How many people—oh, it's you, Ellie," a pretty dark-haired girl sighed from behind the hostess booth, putting the menu back down. "I didn't recognize you at first."

"Hey, Barb," Ellie said, not without affection. "Busy day?"

"Terrible," her fellow waitress admitted. "But it was worth it just to see the look on Beth's face when her man of the week showed up. She's right," Barbara grudgingly admitted, lowering her voice, "He _is _pretty hot. Literally—he's sitting outside. A bit weird, don't you think?" She glanced furtively toward the patio door, as if he somehow had super hearing and was listening to their conversation.

"That's why I'm here," Ellie said. "Beth wants me to ask him out for her."

Barbara smirked. "Good luck. She was hovering around the window last time I checked."

Ellie scanned the tables closest to the patio, and sure enough, she saw Beth standing next to a booth occupied by a middle-aged couple, who looked baffled that their waitress was staring hungrily out the window. She quickly bid goodbye to Barbara and slipped across the café, pretending not to notice David, who was glaring across the room at her, clearly incensed that she'd shown up to disturb one of his employees on the job.

The couple was clearly going from confused to annoyed at the waitress hovering around them, and Ellie tapped Beth on the shoulder, pulling her into the alcove under the door before they could say anything. Beth gave a little shriek when Ellie grabbed her, but quickly recovered. "Well, _you _took your time," she grumbled. "I thought he was going to leave. He just ordered a coffee like last time. He hasn't been here since before…"

_Since before the battle. _Ellie knew that Beth was still greatly shaken by the Battle of New York which had occurred nearly three months beforehand, and was seeing a therapist after she'd nearly been killed during the invasion. It was one of the topics Ellie knew never to mention unless her friend brought it up first, although reminders of the destruction were everywhere, from the rubble still piled up against the sides of the café to the emergency training David had made them undergo immediately afterwards.

She leaned around the glass doors and saw a lone figure sitting at one of the small wrought-iron tables, a cup of steaming coffee placed in front of him and an open book lying in his lap; he appeared to be sketching something. He wore a pair of sleek designer jeans and a loosely-fitting blue shirt, but there was no hiding his very muscular figure. His dirty blond hair was parted to one side, and from what Ellie could see of him he had a sculpted jaw and high cheekbones. So Beth hadn't been kidding: he was _extremely _handsome, and had an air of familiarity to him Ellie couldn't quite place. She wondered if he was a Hollywood star or a fashion model; they were often spotted around New York, but rarely came to Serendipity as it was neither an expensive nor trendy place.

He suddenly looked up, as if he could sense Ellie and Beth's eyes on him, and his forehead creased in a puzzled frown. Beth immediately yanked Ellie back inside; her cheeks were flaming red. Ellie idly thought that they must look like a pair of giggling teenagers. "He saw us," she moaned. "I just served him—he's going to know that I was staring. Okay, so what do you think?"

"I approve," Ellie said, smirking slightly. Beth had always flitted from one man to the other like a butterfly. "Give him your number."

"All right," Beth said, tearing a page off of her notepad. "Go out there and pretend to be a customer; I'll talk to him on my way to see you."

Ellie had to admit that Beth's flair for dramatics was quite amusing, and so dutifully walked out onto the patio, taking the table next to the blond man. He glanced up again as she approached, his eyebrows furrowed as if he had been concentrating hard on something. Up close, Ellie could see that he had a serious face and wise blue eyes; she got the feeling that he could see right through her, and felt embarrassingly transparent. "Do you mind if I sit here?" she asked, hoping that Beth would come out soon and rescue her.

"Of course not, ma'am," he replied, smiling at her so that she saw a flash of straight white teeth. There was a faint trace of stubble on his chin, but his features, though unarguably handsome, weren't as perfect as they had seemed from farther away: his nose was slightly crooked and his eyebrows were too thick. So not a model, then. "You're the only other person brave enough to stand the heat."

"Not really," Ellie said, with a grimace. "The restaurant is full. Guess most people would rather stay inside." She pretended to look over at the doors when in reality she was searching for Beth. When her friend failed to appear, she turned back to him. "And please don't call me ma'am—the only other person I've heard saying that is my grandfather. I'm Elizabeth Hawthorne."

"Steve Rogers," he said in return, offering his hand. His handshake was solid and friendly; Ellie's own hand was nearly dwarfed. Despite the extreme heat, he wasn't sweating in the least: on the contrary, he seemed completely unaffected by it. His sketchbook was open to a breathtakingly detailed drawing of the patio. Ellie noticed he hadn't left out the large, gaping hole in the brick where a car had smashed into it during the attack, or the damaged chairs stacked in one corner. She had just leaned closer to get a better look when she realized he was staring at her; embarrassed, she drew back.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "It's just—that's amazing, it really is. Are you an artist?"

Steve looked mildly surprised. "No, it's a hobby of mine. I try to finish as many drawings as I can—I was here a while back sketching Stark Tower."

"The Avengers Tower," Ellie corrected. Steve looked startled—maybe he didn't know it had been renamed? "It was called Stark Tower up until about three months ago." She nodded up at the tower, where the "A" in the name Stark was now the only thing that remained of the original sign.

"I'm not a fan of the design," Steve admitted, as if he was admitting a secret, and smiled again at her, this time more sheepishly. It was strangely endearing.

"Too ostentatious?" Ellie asked.

"Yeah." Steve chuckled to himself, as if he was laughing at some secret joke.

"I completely agree," Ellie said empathetically. "I actually tried to start a campaign to have it demolished." The joke fell from her lips before she could rein it in; she hoped Steve would realize she wasn't serious.

But there was no need to worry: his eyes had lit up, though there was still a certain wariness behind them. "You have my vote."

Ellie muttered, "You'd get sick of it too if you had to look at it every day." When he looked perplexed, she elaborated, "I actually work here. I'm a waitress—today is my day off, but I came to visit my friend."

"Huh," Steve said, propping his chin up with his head and frowning at her. "I don't remember seeing you the last time I was here."

"No, I was away at the time. It was my grandmother's funeral," Ellie replied, distracted by the thought.

She was suddenly thrown back into the whirlwind of that moment: getting a phone call that her grandmother had died and then boarding a plane an hour later, coming back from the funeral only to hear that there had been a major catastrophe in New York…

"I'm sorry," Steve said softly, breaking into her reverie. All traces of his previous amusement were gone. He looked perfectly sincere.

"It's all right. She had a long and happy life. Everyone says it's a good thing I wasn't in New York during the invasion." Steve suddenly went rigid, and Ellie wondered if it was a sensitive subject for him, just like it was for Beth. "So, what do you do, Steve?" she asked him, hoping to deflect the conversation.

However, the question only served to make him look even more uncomfortable, and before Ellie could get a response out of him, the patio door burst open and Beth came rushing out, her cheeks pink and her makeup freshly reapplied. She made a show of looking surprised to see Ellie. "Oh, _hi_, Ellie! Fancy seeing you here!"

"What a coincidence," Ellie said dryly. Steve looked bemused. "This is my friend and co-worker, Beth," she explained.

"We've met," he said, and offered one of his easy smiles to her. Beth looked like she was about to faint. "I apologize for not introducing myself earlier. My name is Steve Rogers."

Hoping that she had done her job appropriately, Ellie pretended she had to take a phone call and quietly excused herself, going to wait for Beth in the air-conditioned comfort of the café.


	2. Misunderstanding

**Chapter Two: Misunderstanding**

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Ellie didn't arrive home until late that evening; she and Beth had gone to an expensive steakhouse in Greenwich Village for dinner, which had resulted in both women drinking far more than they usually would on a weekday. Beth had been surprisingly quiet about her own conversation with Steve Rogers, which was unusual for her; all Ellie's attempts to interrogate her had failed, despite all of the cocktails Beth had downed. The only thing she could get out of her friend was that she had asked Steve to dinner the following night, and he had agreed. This was very uncharacteristic of her, and if Ellie had been paying closer attention (and not had as many drinks, either) she would have picked up right away that something was amiss. ("Did you see his drawings?" Ellie had inquired, remembering the breathtaking detail of it, to which Beth had scoffed, "His _drawings? _I was too busy looking at his face, in case you hadn't noticed!") And that had concluded their conversation about him.

So, stuffed with steak and alcohol, she fumbled with the keys to her apartment, having ordered the disgruntled taxi driver to take her back to Serendipity so she could stuff her bicycle in the trunk before giving him directions to the house. Ellie was more than a little bit drunk, and she found herself delighted that she had agreed to drag herself out of the apartment to see Beth. Not only had she gotten an excellent dinner, she'd had a chance to speak to one of the most handsome—and polite—men she had seen in a long while. Dating opportunities were few and far between for her, despite the sheer size of New York, and her subconscious mind was willing to dredge to the surface what her conscious mind would never have considered: that if Beth hadn't asked Steve Rogers out first, Ellie most certainly would have. She had experienced a messy breakup shortly before she'd moved to the city—a breakup that still haunted her dreams at night, but at least she and Beth had bonded over their similar situations as well as their shared names—and so had been aloof around men for the past six months, not to mention that she was so busy with work and trying to find a more career-oriented job.

"Miss Hawthorne?"

Startled, Ellie whirled around, the keys slipping out of her fingers and falling to the floor. The door across the hallway had opened with her noticing it, and she saw that one of her neighbors, Ivan, was standing just behind her with a struggling orange ball of fur tucked under a muscular arm.

"Uh, hi!" Ellie exclaimed. "Please call me Ellie." She rarely saw, much less spoke to, the reclusive tenant. All she knew about Ivan was that he worked the night shift as a security guard at what she assumed was an upscale building of some sort, judging by his uniform. She'd rarely seen him without it, and it outlined his burly, dark figure very well. His face was more handsome than Ellie remembered it—although that could have just been the alcohol—and a pair of dark eyes watched her from under a gold-lined cap. "I see you met Tigger."

"He jumped over to my balcony and was scratching at the doors," Ivan explained in a thick Russian accent. "I did not know when the best time to return him to you would be."

"Now is fine, thank you," Ellie said, reaching out to take the hissing cat from his arms. Although Tigger had gotten out onto the balcony before, he'd never actually leapt over to Ivan's balcony—at least to Ellie's knowledge. She would have to make sure the windows were tightly locked before she left again.

Ivan had knelt down while Ellie struggled to wrap her arms around Tigger and retrieved her keys from the floor, twirling them around his fingers with a slight smirk playing on his lips. _God, _her alcohol-addled brain registered in surprise. _He's hotter than I thought. _"Would you like some assistance?" he asked, his English perfectly flawless despite his accent. English was Ellie's first (and only) language, but she found herself unable to do anything but nod as she watched him swiftly unlock her door. He reminded her a bit too much of her ex-boyfriend, who oozed the same effortless charm. If it hadn't been past midnight and he hadn't looked like he was about to head out for his shift, she would probably have invited him inside for a drink, or more, and Ellie felt shame color her cheeks as brightly as her hair as she mumbled a thank-you and ducked inside. Tigger immediately leapt from her arms and landed lightly on the floor below before streaking off in the direction of her bedroom.

"Thank you, again," Ellie said earnestly to Ivan, who was still standing outside her door. "He's not the friendliest cat—I'm sorry if he gave you any trouble."

"Oh, I can handle him quite well," Ivan replied, looking as if he was very much enjoying some private joke. "I work at Stark Tower. Perhaps we should have a coffee together sometime, no?"

Ellie smiled. "I know the perfect place to get coffee. Good night, Ivan."

"Good night, Ellie," he said, his voice flowing like honey over her name, and she closed the door to his devilish smile. Maybe she would have to let Tigger out more often.

Her purse suddenly lit up—more specifically, something _inside_ her purse lit up and buzzed excitedly. Ellie wasn't in the mood to meticulously dig through it, so she simply unzipped it and shook it upside down while all its contents spilled onto the ground. She expected Beth's number to appear on the screen, but instead it was a long-distance call: her home number.

Instantly sober, she collapsed onto the chair in front of the television—she'd forgotten to turn it off before leaving the apartment, and the late-night special was featuring the Avengers. Unease bubbled in her stomach as she watched a Chitauri warrior smash into the outdoor patio where she had been sitting with Steve Rogers earlier that day, and just as the camera cut to show Captain America tossing his shield at it and slicing it cleanly in half, Ellie switched off the TV. "Hello?" she asked cautiously.

"Ellie, I hope I haven't woken you!" the familiar, comforting voice of her mother said. Ellie sighed and sank back in her chair. "Were you sleeping?"

"No, Mom," she said, crossing her legs and staring at the chipped orange nail polish on her toes. "I was out with a friend, actually. I just got home. What is it?"

"Grandpa is in the hospital," her mother answered, more hesitantly, and Ellie felt icy fear flood her veins.

_"What?" _she gasped. "How long has he been there? I can catch the earliest flight out—"

"No, don't worry yourself, sweetie," Julia Hawthorne said, prompting a snort from Ellie. _It's too late for that, _she thought sourly. "There's no need for that yet. He was very ill this morning, and the doctors want to monitor him just in case. There's a high chance we'll be at the hospital tomorrow, and I wanted to be the first to give you the news. Just keep your phone on in case we need to contact you."

Ellie let out her breath in a long sigh, willing her heart to slow down. "How sick is he?" she asked, trying to smooth out the crease in her brow.

Julia paused. "He was…delirious. He keeps thinking he's back in Germany, on the front line."

Ellie's hand tightened around the phone. Benjamin Hawthorne, her paternal grandfather, was a Second World War veteran and losing his battle with dementia. Ever since his wife had passed away in April, he had quickly deteriorated, leaving his family wondering how long he would last. Recently he had been having war flashbacks, and Ellie was worried that he would become a danger to himself or others. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do?" she asked desperately.

"Not for now," her mother said. "Just keep us in your thoughts and prayers." There was a short pause. "I'm sorry if I worried you, sweetheart."

"It's fine," Ellie answered. "I would rather know the truth."

"Wait a moment—was this 'friend' you mentioned male or female?" Julia asked suspiciously.

"Female. Do you remember Beth?" Ellie knew the abrupt change of topic was her mother's way of trying to reassure her everything was fine when it really wasn't. She didn't appreciate it, but she didn't see what else she could do.

Julia then launched into an explanation of what exactly Ellie should do if she wanted to 'snag' a man, and her lecture went on for another fifteen minutes without another mention of Benjamin before Ellie finally managed to hang up. When everything was quiet again, she silently made her way over to her room and collapsed onto her bed, shoving Tigger onto the floor.

Her night of fun and frivolity suddenly wasn't so carefree anymore. The news about her grandfather had completely driven out any tipsiness she might have had, and now she was left feeling sick both physically and mentally. She didn't get to sleep for a very long time, and when she did dream, she was sitting at the café with Steve, who was smiling at her as if he knew everything she was thinking and feeling. She felt safe with him around, but then the dream changed, and Ivan was across from her instead. His features began to morph into those of Ellie's ex-boyfriend, Matthew, and she quickly shoved herself away from the table and began to run away, but the café was no longer there: a sheer cliff face had opened in front of her, and Ellie slipped off the edge, falling into the chasm. She thought Steve might have been calling her name, but he could do nothing about it: she had already hit the ground.

Ellie woke to an unbearable hangover and complete and utter exhaustion. She didn't hesitate to call in sick to a sympathetic Barbara, claiming she had gotten the flu. She knew she would be getting heat from David about it later, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

She was about to turn over and go back to sleep when her phone beeped. Expecting it to be Julia with an update on Benjamin's condition, Ellie leapt on it right away. This time, she expected it to be her mother but got Beth instead. Of course her best friend would never let her live it down.

"I'm sick, Beth," she moaned, trying to sound as weak as possible. Across the room, Tigger leapt on a ball of yarn with a loud yowl. Ellie threw her pillow at him.

"What's wrong? Couldn't stomach it?" Beth asked gleefully. "I drank twice as much as you did. You'll have to face David on your own tomorrow."

Just for that, Ellie decided not to tell her about Ivan. Let Beth figure it out for herself if she ever saw them at Serendipity together. "Actually, that's not the reason. My mother called and told me that my grandfather is in the hospital."

Beth's tone immediately turned somber. "I'm sorry, Ellie! I didn't know he was that bad. Let me know if you need anything."

"Let me sleep?" Ellie asked hopefully.

"Not a chance," Beth replied. "Actually, I need to ask you a favor."

In Ellie's experience, those sorts of requests never turned out well. "What is it?"

"Adam called this morning. He wants to get back together." Beth sounded almost apologetic.

Ellie finally sat up, throwing her hand over her eyes. "That's great, but I'm a bit concerned. Didn't you tell me just last week that he'd gotten back together with another ex?"

Beth paused, as if the memory hadn't occurred to her. "Yes, but then they broke up because of me. Adam said that he couldn't stop thinking about me."

_"Beth—"_

"I need you to go on the date with Steve for me."

Ellie groaned. "No. Absolutely not. What would I tell him? He's expecting you, not me."

"Say that I was tragically crushed by a gargoyle falling from Grand Central Station on my way to work. Better yet, tell him that I'm a scoundrel who stood him up for fun, and you're there to sweep him off your feet like the heroine you are."

"Be realistic."

"I _am. _Oh, Ellie, please don't make me cancel on him," Beth begged. "He looked so eager when I asked him, like a golden retriever. There are worse guys to get lucky with. Think of me as your personal Cupid."

"My personal devil, more like," Ellie muttered. She couldn't help thinking that there was something fishy about the entire situation, but then again, she knew it was time to finally move on from Matt, and she hadn't been more interested in talking to a man for a very long time…"Fine," she sighed after a moment of deliberation. "Where do I meet him?"

"Oh, Ellie, you're the best!" Beth squealed. "It's at Times Square at seven o'clock."

Ellie cringed at the thought of heading into the neon chaos: she avoided that part of the city as much as possible. She was always left with a pounding headache. To someone raised in the country like her, New York would always seem like another planet. She hung up without another word, hoping that Beth would finally pick up on her frustration, and went to take a much-needed shower.

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><p>Steve Rogers paced through his apartment, the only sound the echo of his footsteps on the wood floor. It was a habit he had picked up when he didn't have anything useful to do, and when he wasn't giving orders or carrying them out, his life had remarkably little substance. The thought was not an easy one to bear.<p>

He stopped in the middle of the near-empty living room, staring around at the bare walls. He hadn't bothered to personalize the apartment at all; in fact, there were a lot of things he hadn't bothered doing.

After the battle, Tony had unveiled his plans for the Avengers Tower, and invited them all to live with him. At first, Bruce and Steve had been the only ones to take him up on his offer: Thor had returned to Asgard, and Steve doubted Clint or Natasha would ever willingly stay in the same place for more than a month. The Tower had been interesting at first, but ultimately it had alienated more than welcomed Steve, with its technology and ever-present AI, JARVIS, who put Steve on edge more than he was prepared to admit. Besides, he was still on uncertain terms with Stark, and Dr. Banner was practically a recluse; the two men got along together more than either of them did with Steve. The final straw had been Steve finding a self-help book on treating depression in the elderly in his room. He'd confronted Tony about it, who had outright stated that he had some over-fifty group therapy sessions lined up for him. Bruce had fiddled with his glasses and stared down at the table; it was obvious he didn't want to get involved. Regardless of whether or not Tony had actually been trying to help, Steve had promptly packed his bags and moved back into his S.H.I.E.L.D-assigned apartment after eight weeks of living in the Tower. Perhaps it seemed too pedantic of him, but he didn't care. Tony had told him he'd be back soon enough, and Steve hadn't even graced that with a response, hating that the younger man who looked so much like a person he'd once considered a friend was right.

However, it didn't take long before the sounds of car horns and the noisy street below had created yet another barrier between him and the world, and he was forced to face the fact that Tony was right. Staring around the empty apartment, its walls closing in on him, Steve had never felt so alone, not even when he'd lost Bucky. It didn't help that he often woke with nightmares drenched in a cold sweat, but they weren't nightmares of the war, or of the attack: it was always him just standing in an endless room, and no matter how loudly he screamed or how far he ran, he was always alone, stuck with nothing but himself for the rest of eternity. There was no one, now, to reassure him that he was all right, that they were just dreams, because they _weren't_: they were reality.

Not for the first time, he glanced over at the phone, sitting on the dark oak of the corner cabinet, and thought of Peggy. Brilliant, beautiful Peggy—who was still a knockout in Steve's eyes, even today, with her silver hair and her gaze still as sharp as it had ever been while he remained untouched by time. She had seen him on the news after the attack and had been the first one to contact him. He'd immediately flown over to England to see her, and spent hours pushing her in her wheelchair around the garden while she talked about the years he had missed. It had been the closest thing to happiness he had felt since he'd been awakened.  
>They'd only seen each other once—Steve didn't know if her family would take too kindly to him visiting often—and now, half-crazed with desperation, all he wanted was to hear her voice again, to remind him he had an anchor in this new and frankly terrifying world. Steve was halfway to the phone before he realized that with the time difference, it would be nearly midnight and she would be asleep.<p>

The spark of hope that had momentarily flared up in his chest was mercilessly extinguished, and Steve was left cold once again. The phone that had moments ago been his lifeline now seemed to taunt him, as if it was reminding him just how alone he really was.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," he heard Peggy say, a laugh in her voice. In his vision, she was young again, wearing that unforgettable scarlet dress that was almost scandalizing in the way it clung to her body, her lips painted ruby red. He reached for her, but she stayed tantalizingly out of reach. _"Steve," _she breathed, and his breath quickened. "You can't live like this."

"What other choice do I have?" he argued, dropping his gaze. Her unwavering stare soon forced him to look up again.

"Live," she said firmly. "What you're doing is not living. Your job isn't an escape. You've been given a second chance at life. _Don't waste it."_

"Peggy—" he began, not even sure himself what he was going to say, but she shook her head and reached up, pressing a finger to his mouth to silence him, a phantom touch. And then the image of her disappeared, and Steve was alone again.

Thank God he hadn't had the hallucination when any of the other Avengers were around: he would never hear the end of it—or, disturbingly, perhaps it only served to further illustrate how well and truly damaged he really was. Steve dragged his hand across his face, feeling the stubble on his chin. He was in dire need of a shave, but he hadn't cared enough to do it. It occurred to him that he didn't care about much anymore.

Peggy's dark, accusing eyes stared ruefully at him from behind his closed eyelids, and with a burst of shame Steve realized that she wouldn't want him to live a life like this. Bucky would be angry at him. "Stop moping around, Steve," he'd snap. "Get out and _do _something. Think of all the poor dames you're depriving of your company."

Had he been there, Steve would laugh and playfully nudge him in the arm. "Buck," he would say in his long-suffering tone, "Talking to a girl isn't going to help me unless I want to be publicly humiliated."

But Bucky wasn't there—if he had been, Steve wouldn't have been nearly so depressed. Imagining his best friend's face didn't give him any comfort; in fact, it made him feel worse. Thinking of dames reminded him that he had a…_date,_ for lack of a better word. He'd avoided thinking about his agreement to have dinner with Beth since he'd left the café, unsure exactly how it made him feel. On one hand, he supposed it was a step above sitting alone in his apartment for yet another night. On the other, he had absolutely no idea what constituted a normal date in the twenty-first century except what he'd heard from Tony, and the man was hardly an expert on what _normal _was. Beth was pretty and talkative, both things that Steve appreciated, and she had taken the lead in their conversation. He couldn't imagine himself talking to her over a candlelit meal, or walking her home and kissing her under the porch light, or whatever it was that people usually did at the end of a date if it went well. _Get a grip on yourself, Rogers, _he had told himself when she'd politely asked him out to dinner, her blue eyes wide and pleading. _Peggy would want this for you. It's what Bucky would want. It's what you _should _do._

But Steve didn't know if it was what he himself actually wanted. Nevertheless, he had ignored the cautious voice in the back of his mind and agreed to her request. He'd felt strangely confident as he had left—but now, alone with his thoughts, he was second-guessing himself. It wasn't fair to Beth—or himself—if he went ahead with this without fully desiring it.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the slip of paper Beth had given him with her phone number. He was sure she deserved a better man than himself; someone who wasn't living in the past and who would be just as attentive and light-hearted as she herself was. Perhaps he would take his motorcycle down to Brooklyn instead and walk around his old neighborhood. That sounded more appealing to him than eating an awkward dinner in some restaurant smack dab in the middle of Times Square.

Steve smoothed out a crease in the paper with his thumb and picked up the phone, hesitating for a brief moment as the dial tone droned in his ear. Nothing was stopping him from going on the date anyway and seeing where it took him—but it was _for the best, _he tried to convince himself, and dialed Beth's number.

It rang twice before someone picked up: there was a moment of scuffling on the other end, followed by what sounded like a muffled exclamation of pain, and then, "Hello?"

Steve paused, his eyebrows creasing together—it wasn't Beth's voice, but it was nonetheless familiar. Distinctly feminine, and he was sure he'd heard it just that day…

"Hello?" the voice asked again when he didn't answer, and then he heard a hissed, _"_Shut _up, _Tigger!"

That was when it finally hit Steve. It was Beth's friend—the redhead who had sat with him and complimented his drawings. She had been the first one to make him genuinely laugh in weeks.

"Elizabeth?"


	3. Fragile Heart

**A/N: Hi, guys! First off, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, favorited, or followed this story**—**it really means a lot to me. Secondly, I promise that the next update won't take as long as this one did. Being a university student in a very essay-heavy major definitely isn't the easiest thing to handle, especially when you're trying to juggle fanfic writing on top of it. Thirdly, I hope everyone had a very merry Christmas/happy holidays, and all the best to you guys in the new year!**

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><p><strong>Chapter Three: Fragile Heart<strong>

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Ellie had to take the phone away from her ear and stare at the unfamiliar number, certain she'd heard wrong, before tentatively saying, "Yeah, this is Ellie." She paused again, wondering if she had somehow mistaken the voice. How had he gotten her number? "Steve Rogers, right?" she finally asked. Saying the name aloud evoked some sort of memory for her, harkening back to high school history class, but she shoved the strange thought aside.

On the other end, Steve seemed just as hesitant as her. "Yes," he replied carefully. "I'm looking for Beth."

Ellie frowned. Across the room, Tigger was batting at the curtains impatiently, wanting to be let outside. Balancing her phone between her ear and shoulder, Ellie reached down, pulled off one of her socks and wadded it up into a ball before throwing it at him. "This is my number, not Beth's."

"Oh," Steve said. He sounded just as confused as Ellie felt. "She must have given me the wrong number, then."

Why the hell had Beth given him Ellie's number instead of her own, and then asked her to go on the date instead—_Damn, _Ellie realized, and dragged her free hand through her hair in frustration. It suddenly made perfect sense: Beth had been trying to set up Steve and Ellie and given him her phone number instead, as well as begging her to go on the date in Beth's place. Ellie was willing to bet that Adam hadn't conveniently called her to arrange a reconciliation, either. And now _she _was stuck having to explain to Steve that he wouldn't be getting Beth after all.

"Um, Steve, I…I think there's been a misunderstanding," Ellie said, steeling herself for the inevitable humiliation. Beth was in very, _very _big trouble. "I think this might have been deliberate on Beth's part," she explained, emphasizing her friend's name. "She, uh, called me earlier and asked if I could go on the…date with you tonight instead of her. Supposedly her ex-boyfriend wants to get back together." She cringed as she said the last sentence. Never had she so badly wanted to end a phone call in her entire life. She hoped that Steve would understand what she was trying to say.

Steve didn't answer for so long that Ellie was beginning to wonder if he'd hung up. And then he said, in a perfectly polite voice, "I wanted to tell Beth that I don't think I'll be able to make it after all. But if she wasn't intending to go anyway, that makes it easier. I wouldn't want to burden you, Elizabeth."

"Ellie," she corrected. "Please call me Ellie." She didn't want to reveal that she'd almost been looking forward to going on a date with him. Not only was he handsome and seemed polite, if a bit inexperienced with women, it would mean she was taking another huge step after her breakup with Matt, which had been what prompted her to move to New York in the first place. But how was she supposed to articulate that without sounding desperate? She would just have to hope that Steve returned to the café (which probably wasn't likely). "Listen, I hope that you haven't been inconvenienced by any of this. I hope she didn't book a restaurant or anything…"

"I think she may have, actually," Steve said slowly. "She mentioned something about the Flower Garden, if that sounds familiar to you."

"Oh, no," Ellie groaned. "They charge a cancellation fee. Twenty dollars, I think. I—I won't be able to do that. I mean, not that I don't want to do it. I would pay if I could—it's just that I can't afford it." How was she supposed to explain that she honestly didn't have enough money?

"I have more than enough money," Steve said firmly. "Please don't worry about it."

"I can't," she argued, but she knew very well that she didn't have ten dollars lying around, let alone twenty. Still, she knew she couldn't just leave it at that. "Your next coffee at Serendipity is on me."

Steve laughed, but Ellie wasn't sure if it was genuine or not. She liked to think that it was. "Well, I can't argue with that. The restaurant is off Times Square, right?"

"Yes," Ellie replied. There was a long silence between them, Ellie frantically searching for some excuse to end the awkward conversation. "Anyway, I'd better go," she finally said. "My cat will probably destroy the apartment if I don't find him soon enough."

"I wouldn't want that," Steve said, and now, to Ellie's relief, he sounded genuinely amused. "Have a good day, Eliza—Ellie."

"You too," she said, but waited another second before she finally hung up.

The moment she pressed the "End Call" button, Ellie was already dialing Beth's number. She paced around the cramped room impatiently, ignoring Tigger's futile attempts to escape onto the balcony. The remnants of her hangover had now completely vanished—perhaps the only good thing about the situation.

To her surprise, it was David, not Beth, who answered on the second ring. "I was informed that you were sick, Elizabeth," he said, omitting any semblance of a greeting. "Have you decided that you are well enough to cover your shift after all?"

Ellie tried to keep her tone as civil as possible. "I'm afraid not," she said. "But I really need to speak to Beth about an urgent matter."

"Beth is working at the moment," David replied, with a clear tone that implied _Unlike you. _"You may, however, pass your message on to me."

Ellie was seconds away from growling in frustration. "Just—please tell her to call me back as soon as she can."

"Of course," David said smoothly. "I wish you a quick recovery, and I shall see you tomorrow morning at eight o'clock sharp." The dial tone buzzed in her ear before Ellie could retort.

Gnashing her teeth together in frustration, she threw her phone onto the couch and went to retrieve Tigger from the balcony. Thankfully, he hadn't yet jumped over to Ivan's. Ellie grabbed him and threw him back inside before taking a moment to breathe deeply. If she smoked, she would be going through a pack right about now.

The balconies were small and narrow, added as an afterthought when the brownstone had been divided up into four apartments—in truth, they weren't so much balconies as they were a few planks of wood jutting out from a poorly-installed door with a rickety railing that could barely support a cat's weight. Ellie barely had enough room to fit a plastic lawn chair on the balcony, and it didn't offer much in the way of a view, but it was far more than she had been expecting to get when she moved to the city.

She leaned despondently against the railing, staring blankly into space. She was more than a little disappointed that she wasn't going on a date—despite her earlier objections—she was more than a little annoyed that Beth had lied to her, and, worst of all, she was more than a little embarrassed that Steve was going to end up paying for the restaurant's cancellation fee when he wasn't even the one who had initiated the date in the first place. Ellie had no idea what his financial situation was, but if he was like most people in New York, it probably wasn't very good. She wished fervently that she had thought to keep a bit more spare change lying around the apartment for emergencies. And she knew she would have better luck begging the bank for a loan rather than asking David for her paycheck a week early.

She was about to slink back inside and scavenge the depths of her closet for any bills she might have unwittingly stuffed in pockets when a bright yellow taxi pulled into the driveway. Ellie paused, thinking it might be Mrs. Wilkins returning from one of her numerous doctor's appointments, but instead she watched a young brunette climb out of the car gracefully and hand a wad of bills to the driver. Sabrina and her five-year-old son, Zachary, lived in one of the basement apartments. Out of the four other residents of the brownstone, Ellie had the most familiarity with her.

As the taxi pulled away, Sabrina looked up as if she sensed Ellie's presence and waved at her. "You're just the person I wanted to see!" she called. "If you're not too busy, I need some help moving furniture from the garage to my apartment."

Never one to deny someone help when they needed it, Ellie nodded. "I'll be down in a minute," she replied. At the very least, it would help her get her mind off her failed date and her worry about her grandfather. She darted back into the apartment and retrieved her phone, noting with some disappointment that Beth hadn't called back. She told herself that if her friend hadn't returned her call by noon, she would try again. Satisfied with this decision, she pocketed it and headed downstairs, where Sabrina was already waiting on the porch for her.

It wasn't as hot as the previous day, though the air was thick with smog. A sheen of sweat still covered the back of Ellie's neck as she followed Sabrina out to the garage, the other woman chatting to her over her shoulder. "Zack is at his dad's for the day, and I want to surprise him when he gets home," she explained, hauling up the garage door with one arm. Ellie's bicycle was leaning against the far wall, and next to it was a dark leather couch, still covered in crinkly paper from the store. A velvet armchair sat beside it, while a table lamp perched precariously on its seat.

"I'll pay you, of course," Sabrina said matter-of-factly, squeezing Ellie's shoulder. She started in surprise.

"You—you don't have to—"

"Nonsense. I can tell that you could make do with a few extra dollars." She grinned at Ellie, her teeth impossibly white. Sabrina was a fortune-teller at Coney Island, but her predictions were based more on careful observation than actual psychic ability. The first time Ellie had met her, Sabrina had (correctly) told her that she had moved to New York to escape a failed relationship. Ellie's mouth had fallen open and she had stared at Sabrina for a full thirty seconds, awestruck, until Sabrina had laughed and told her that she had been wearing men's clothing. Ellie had immediately glanced down, and, to her extreme displeasure, noticed that she had been wearing one of Matt's old shirts rolled up to the cuffs. Since then, she had become one of Sabrina's most staunch defenders whenever Mrs. Wilkins called her profession "distasteful", although Ellie had to agree that her talents were wasted trying to convince tourists that their luck would increase exponentially if they agreed to tip her an extra ten dollars.

"Do I look that bad?" she asked wryly, hoping that the shower had washed away all evidence of her previous hangover.

"Of course not, Ellie. Don't be ridiculous," Sabrina scoffed. She strode over to the table lamp and gathered it up in her arms, holding it tightly in both hands as if brandishing it as a weapon. "You've worn the same outfit three times this week."

Ellie raised an eyebrow as she wheeled her bicycle out of the way. "Do I look that poor, then?" she corrected.

Sabrina playfully swatted her on the arm. "So I take it that you _don't _want the money?" she teased, taking Ellie's subsequent silence as an answer in itself. "God, I can only pay you if we actually manage to get these things inside. I would have asked Ivan to help, but he doesn't seem to keep regular hours." She frowned, as if this displeased her.

Ellie almost smiled, reaching up her hand to touch her forehead. "Shouldn't you, um, already know that?"

Sabrina lifted her head from where she was attempting to pick up the armchair all by herself to shoot her a dark glare. "Touché," she admitted. "But Tall, Dark and Handsome isn't around often enough for me to properly assess his aura—stop laughing, Ellie, and get over here before I change my mind and hire someone to do this."

Ellie mock-saluted, barely managing to stifle her giggles. She suddenly felt a whole lot happier than she had when she'd woken up that morning. "Yes, ma'am," she said, and hurried to help her.

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><p>An hour later, after the furniture had been hauled from the garage and into Sabrina's (much larger) apartment, Ellie found herself invited for lunch. She gratefully accepted the offer, both out of courtesy and the slightly less noble fact that her legs would probably collapse from under her if she tried to climb stairs. Sabrina had offered her some sort of salve for sore muscles—which turned out to be surprisingly effective—and after the meal Ellie curled up on the couch, her legs tucked under her and her head propped up on her elbow. Zachary's toys were scattered around the living room—Ellie noticed that the Avengers seemed to be a constant theme—and her eyelids were just beginning to drift shut of their own accord when Sabrina spoke up from where she had been quietly reading a magazine in the adjacent armchair.<p>

"You're expecting a call."

Ellie sleepily raised her head, stifling a yawn. "Yes, I am," she said slowly. "How did you know?"

"You've been playing with your pockets all morning," Sabrina said with a small grin. "Unless there's something in there I don't know about—in which case it's none of my business—you're anxious about something."

"Right as usual," Ellie admitted, stretching her arms over her head and resisting the urge to check her phone yet again. "But I wouldn't say _anxiou_s…more—annoyed."

Sabrina nodded serenely, leaning forward to fix Ellie with a knowing stare that was more than slightly unnerving. "And you wish to speak about it," she stated plainly.

Ellie hadn't known herself that this was the case before Sabrina had spoken. But as soon as she acknowledged it, she found the whole tangled situation tumbling out—her conversation with Steve, Beth's interest in him, her abrupt turnaround, his phone call, her lack of money…Sabrina, who knew Ellie's previous history with Matt, merely listened without speaking, nodding at all the appropriate intervals.

When Ellie finished her story, she sat back, feeling immensely relieved at getting it all off her chest. She waited patiently for the other woman to answer, hoping she would offer some profound, extraordinarily helpful advice.

But all Sabrina said when she finally spoke was, "What is his name again? This man that you met."

Ellie frowned in disappointment, wondering if Sabrina had gone off in a trance as she was wont to do. "Steve Rogers. Why? Do you know him?"

Sabrina leaned forward and put her hand over top of Ellie's, her dark eyes wide and beseeching. "Oh, honey," she breathed. "In the end, it won't be your heart that will be broken. It will be his."

Her predictions were usually predictable, to say the least, but this particular one had come from far out of left field. "What do you mean?" Ellie asked, completely baffled.

"Because," Sabrina said, in the reverent tone usually reserved for her best clients, "It will be impossible for you _not_ to break it."


End file.
